


As Long As You Play My Game (I'll Let You Win)

by sunsetmondays



Category: MindCrack RPF
Genre: Groping, Hatemance, M/M, Party Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:03:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5863039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmondays/pseuds/sunsetmondays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nebris hates Arkas. Guude and Pause want to play gay chicken. What ever could possibly go wrong?</p><p><i>If he were in any fit state to walk home, he would have. Oh yes he would have. But he wasn't and he didn't and he damn near </i>felt<i> the "hello </i>Knee-bris<i>" that was purred when the man slipped past. He was glad he couldn't see the smugly entitled grin that was undoubtedly trailing behind him as Arkas left for the kitchen.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	As Long As You Play My Game (I'll Let You Win)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this trash at 3am and idefk anymore. Semi-smutty. Plop into whatever au you want. Reading over, it could just as well work in the canon in-game verse / server verse.  
> Warnings for extremely mild dubious consent. Basically consists of friends pushing people into things that they could be perceived as normally not okay with. AKA warning for boundary pushing.  
> Enjoy my friends. We need more Arkbris up in here.

There's a fine line between love and hate, and most of Nebris' past relationships straddled it with a delicate balance. It was starting to become quite the problem and Arkas just so happened to be the next problem on his list.  
  
He hated him. Absolutely hated him. The kind of hate that sears your veins and curls in your fingertips until you can barely hold in your fury without getting burnt. Arkas. He spat the name. _Fucking Arkas_ prancing about like some kind of _king_ and thieving and being loud and getting in his face and god those _fucking_ legs. He had no right, and to just go and rub it in his face like that, who the hell does he think he is? It ground against his nerves like steel wool until he was rubbed raw and bleeding.  
  
And why did he have to be so fucking _hot_?  
  
He hated him. Without a doubt. Wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Not even a single word.  
  
Arkas, assumedly, was of a similar opinion. Those burning glares and prickling comments passed among narrow hallways said as much. When Arkas spoke, it was with spite. It was venomous. It was deceptive. It sounded candy-sweet and playful, but it was spite nonetheless. Nebris could taste it a mile away.  
  
He was fine with that, though. A mile away was safe. He could let his hate simmer on untried assumptions and nit-picked ideals. It was a lot easier to hate when he couldn't see those dark eyes daring him to match the challenge.  
  
His friends, however, who had heard every side of his argument against Arkas, had their own ideas. These 'brilliant ideas' just so happened to include a party, several shots of something distinctly alcoholic, and practically trapping him and Arkas in the same room among fifteen over people in various states of intoxication. So much for a mile away.  
  
And they were smart about it too. If Nebris knew Arkas was going to be there, he would have never showed up. No fucking way. If Arkas was already there when he arrived, he would have turned around and walked right back out. But no, his friends were never that easy on him. Three shots into the bottle and a good two hours into the party. That was when Arkas had shown up. Made a grand ol' scene out of it too. Nebris even spied Etho staring at the way those skinny jeans just _clung_ to Arkas' tall frame. At least things were good with Etho now though, as messy as that breakup was when it happened. He could deal with Etho, but Arkas...  
  
If he were in any fit state to walk home, he would have. Oh yes he would have. But he wasn't and he didn't and he damn near f _elt_ the "hello _Knee-bris_" that was purred when the man slipped past. He was glad he couldn't see the smugly entitled grin that was undoubtedly trailing behind him as Arkas left for the kitchen.  
  
What in their right minds were Guude and Pause even thinking?! At least sulking in the corner worked well enough for now. Arkas had pissed off to who knows where, and out of sight out of mind, right? He could pretend to ignore the boiling in his blood here. The pretence of peace would have to suffice.  
  
But Guude and Pause were never done, weren't they. "You two should be great friends," they'd sworn to him at the beginning of it all. They obviously hadn't let go of that sentiment, among a few others that prickled his skin to even think of mentioning. If the hushed snickers and unsubtly discreet exchanges of cash meant anything, they hadn't let go of those ones at all.  
  
"Party games!" Guude announced in a half-yelled slur. The blond man wasn't quite with it, but he knew enough of what he was doing. Nebris could see it in his eyes: that familiar mischievous glint that almost always spelled trouble. It was directed straight at Nebris this time. He was practically cornered.  
  
The other party guests seemed equally as enthused by Guude's drunken suggestion, and of course it was Pause who threw in the first suggestion. Of course it was. "Gay chicken and I know exactly who should go first." A dissonant mash of whoops and 'oooooh's' filled the room. Nebris could already imagine the rustle of cash as it was passed around the room. Everyone else knew too. They knew _exactly_ what was going on here.  
  
Like any other polite party-goer should, Nebris carefully swallowed the string of curses that quickly built in his throat. Instead, he ground his teeth and shot both of his friends a glare fit for factory-grade lasers. That didn't stop them, though. It didn't stop the revulsion pooling in his gut either. Touch Arkas? He couldn't even stand to be near the man. There's no way he could do it. There's no way he could lose either. That just wasn't how he played.  
  
It was almost a relief when he heard Arkas' whining protests wheedle their way through the room as Guude's accomplices dragged him into view. If they both protested enough maybe they'd be let off the hook. His fists were clenched and his bones were sparking already. He didn't know what it was about Arkas that made him hate him so much (a lie), but he did know that it goddamn burned. If he were a season, he'd be summer, slap-bang in the heart of a raging fire storm.  
  
This was not going to end well and the look on Guude and Pause's face told him there was no getting out of it.  
  
He chewed back more curses as he and Arkas were pulled to the centre of the room then circled by the enthused guests. They all knew what was going on. They all knew the story, some having witnessed it first-hand themselves. They could already taste the flames, dripping with anticipation. Nebris had no clue why they were so keen to watch (they were sick of the fighting, who doesn't love a good show, and nearly everyone in the room had money riding on this), but their presence only made matters worse. There was real pressure now. This was a game and he wasn't going to let them see him lose.  
  
"Prick," Arkas said from across the circle.  
  
"Bastard," he spat in return. He was a rubber band, tensed and coiled, ready to snap. It itched under his skin and flared at his fingertips. He swallowed another curse. Arkas flashed him a plastic smirk. The band wound tighter.  
  
Guude clinked a spoon against a glass and the murmur—the energy of the room—hushed, all eyes to the centre. They were like hawks, circling, waiting to see how this all played out. They wanted to see, wanted to know, wanted to come swooping in at the carcases left behind. In any other situation it could be grimly poetic. Nebris gave a derisive laugh.  
  
"You all know how to play, right?" Pause's voice boomed through the room. "It's typically hand up the leg, either one of you or both of you make a move, or whatever the fuck you want. First person to flinch loses. Make it was gay as you want. _Nothing's_ off limits."  
  
Nebris knew the run down. He'd seen other's burned by this game before. It had almost become the standard way of sorting these kinds of 'problems' among the group: play until someone admitted the truth. Except they were wrong. There was no truth to admit. He hated Arkas. Plain and simple. Hated him with every ounce of his being. They should know this would never work and not even Arkas' pink grinning lips and slender fingers could convince him to 'get over it'.  
  
Arkas wasn't going to 'get over it' either. Nebris could see the crease in the other man's brow and the hardness to his gaze and the way his nails dug into his palms. Arkas was not happy with this outcome - this game. He hated him too. He had to.  
  
And then the reprieve of waiting was over. They were beyond protests and complaints and trying to squirm their way out of this with decrees that they were perfectly content to hate and tease and grate from a distance. Guude and Pause pushed them towards each other and with fifteen pairs of eyes watching, they situated themselves on the floor.  
  
A challenge, a _competition_. First person to flinch loses. They knew his weak spot. They knew _their_ weak spot because if there was one thing he and Arkas had in common, it was that they were winners. The thought of losing burned just as much as the searing hate of the man in front of him. The thought of _losing_ to the man in front of him, now that ached and stung like no other emotion he could ever imagine.  
  
"First one to flinch loses," he reminded.  
  
"Easy," Arkas shot back, baring teeth with a blistering gaze.  
  
"No way in hell am I flinching."  
  
"Also easy," Arkas replied, lips curling into a wicked grin. "New rule. First one to come loses." And Nebris could practically smell the self-absorbed confidence Arkas had strung into every searing syllable.  
  
"If that's how it is," Nebris said with a hoarse growl, "game on." More hoots emanated from the crowd before the room around him blurred to static. This was game time now. He was going to win win _win_ no matter what it takes. He almost didn't care that it was Arkas, didn't care for the burn under his skin where Arkas placed his hand atop his knee. He returned the favour. He was going to win.  
  
It started off slow, despite the confidence and the fire. This was well beyond unfamiliar territory and the touch was almost ginger, but this was still a game and Nebris wasn't going to flinch. Step by step, they slid their hands down each other's thigh, fingers grazing the inside of the other's jeans. Further and further in stilted breaths until they reached a cusp and neither had flinched. It was background heat now, like standing exposed in the hot dry of a sweltering desert, a thick haze rising from the sand.  
  
They stopped in synchrony to trade glances. Dangerous things sparked and flickered in their eyes. This was the event horizon, caught in silent communication as they weighed the stakes and dared.  
  
Arkas was the first to make the jump. He felt it. Nebris goddamned felt it as Arkas pushed his palm straight against his crotch. For a moment, Nebris was frozen. He almost broke, _almost_ , but he was watching as Arkas' expression began to twitch into a triumphant smirk and that was enough to pull him through.  
  
He pushed his own palm forward and squeezed, goddamn squeezed against the warmth, and Arkas' eyes shot wide open. Among the tinder and the fury, if Nebris didn't know any better, he could've read something akin to innocence too. Regardless, it was a triumph no matter how small, even if none of them had yet to flinch away.  
  
Then it was back to the game. Nebris slid himself forward for better purchase, ignoring the pressure against his crotch and the way Arkas chewed at his lip in concentration. They'd pushed away boundaries now, pushed away fear, and Nebris gave him a solid grope for good measure just to see him squirm. And squirm Arkas did. He could see the twitch in his legs and the hesitance. Arkas wanted to pull away. Nebris could feel it. He hummed with satisfaction.  
  
"Flinch. I know you want to," Nebris purred in an imitation of Arkas' favourite patronising tone. He flashed his teeth for good measure, predatory.  
  
Something hardened in Arkas' eyes, and despite the slightest quiver in his lip, his tone was unwavering. "I told you. First one to come loses."  
  
"Try me."  
  
And that's when it started. The subtlest movement against his dick; the pressure had lessened considerably but the touch was unmistakable. The little shit knew what he was doing. This wasn't going to be easy.  
  
Nebris soldiered on, doing his best to build a mental blockade against the sensations and return to his own task. _Winning_. He was going to win. He ignored the shiver that caressed his spine and got straight to the point. He brought his hand up the front of Arkas' jeans, popped the button, pulled the zipper, and dipped straight in, do not pass go and do not collect two hundred dollars.  
  
Arkas gasped audibly and the movement went straight to Nebris' cock with an electric twinge.  
  
"Give in?" Nebris offered. He grazed his fingers against hot flesh and noted the growing stiffness with a smirk.  
  
"Never," Arkas spat. Nebris looked up and his eyes had practically ignited in shades of charcoal brown. If what came before were sparks and zaps, then this was downright electric; high voltage with a direct line straight to his dick. _God-fucking-damn it_ , Arkas. It seared just as much as the hate and by this point he wasn't even thinking. So much for that mental blockade. It did nothing and he sure as hell knew Arkas could tell exactly what this was doing to him. It was only luck that the other was in no state to pull himself together.  
  
"Never," Nebris agreed and it was like flicking a switch. One moment he had his hand down Arkas pants and was _this_ close to losing, the next he was dragging Arkas' by the collar, still oblivious to their audience, as he bee-lined for the nearest abandoned room.  
  
It wasn't until he had Arkas slammed against a locked door in a room of cardboard boxes that he managed to stop and think and release the breath he didn't realise he was holding. Arkas was a mess, face tinged pink, hair out of place, and dress shirt crumpled against damp skin. By god it was _perfect_ and Nebris goddamn hated it.  
  
This was a turning point. Heat and fire and everything that made his blood boil: it all pooled and rushed through his veins. This was _Arkas_ , for fuck's sake. Pretty little perfect Arkas who got away with everything and spat empty words and gave no fucks, and yet here he was. Nebris could feel every inch of him pressed to his skin. It burned. Arkas always burned, but this time it was good.  
  
He stared. Arkas was panting, head thrown back against the door and pupil's blown wide. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest. Arkas' too, in an uncertain rhythm. He swallowed hard, still feeling the pressing arousal in his jeans. Stakes lost alongside the crowd of partygoers outside, his bravado had faltered. He had tripped. This wasn't a game anymore.  
  
He met Arkas eye to eye and near-whispered the words against his neck. "What now?"  
  
Arkas breathed a muted laugh. There was warmth to it. It caught him off-guard. Still, the triumphant smirk remained. "First one to come wins," he stated.  
  
Maybe it was after all. And just maybe this was also a game Nebris was willing to play. Nebris had a problem with relationships that straddled the line between love and hate, and boy did he never learn.  
  
~ ~ ~


End file.
